


Awarness

by ShirinOfTheGreatRift



Series: Dreaming of a Tranquil Wake [1]
Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Dreaming, Gen, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-08
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 05:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8238145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirinOfTheGreatRift/pseuds/ShirinOfTheGreatRift
Summary: Whenever they didn’t put a syringe beside his bed, Russell would sleep. And whenever he would sleep, he would dream.





	

  _“Have you ever heard the term ‘Déjà vu’?”_

_He looked up from his homework and towards the person who spoke to him, nodding his head and going back to his book. The person smiled wryly before continuing._

_“Despite coming from another country, my grandfather knew the term,” The man, Kantera, continued as he sat beside Russell, lazily playing with a small temari ball. “The feeling that you had already experienced this action, when in reality, you have not,”_

_Russel glanced at the medicine man, curious at where he was going with this._

_“Grandfather would tell me that the reason for this is because we had experienced it in a dream,” The man picked up the ball and let it rest in his palm “Grandfather had always been interested in the concept of dreams despite being a medicine man. He would say that dreams were the root of knowledge and wisdom, because each dream is actually connected to one another,”_

_Russell blinked, confused. Kantera saw this and smiled down at him._

_“Grandfather was a believer of the collective unconsciousness you see,” Kantera explained, “He believed that we are all connected through our dreams. It is because of that that our dreams are often vague, having so many people dictating a single thing is bound to make a mess, no?” The medicine man laughed at a joke the boy could not comprehend._

_“Where are you getting at?” Russell finally asked, leaving Kantera to blink and smile_

_“Now now, I was about to go there,” He said, patting the boy’s head “You see, I had a strange dream today, it felt rather realistic to be a dream. I was just suddenly reminded of what my Grandfather said because of it,” Russell paused, actually looking up from his homework and looking at the medicine man straight in the eye._

_“What was your dream then?”_

_Kantera closed his eyes and smiled bitterly. He would not open his eyes, lest they leak out the sharp and bloody truth._

_“Grandfather smiling at me again,”_

* * *

 

Whenever they didn’t put a syringe beside his bed, Russell would sleep.

It wasn’t as if he was tired or anything. It was simply because there wasn’t anything else to do to pass the time till then. Now that he was included in this ‘Happy Dream’ project, his prison schedule changed from only having a few hours of isolation to having half a day’s worth of isolation with minor breaks for necessity purposes. Gone were the days where he could simply pass the time by staring off into the clouds as the other prisoners walked around and attempted to rise in some sort of prison hierarchy. He couldn’t even remember anyone of their faces by the time the second day of the project arrived due to all the energy it took for him to wake up from that blasted dream. So as to prevent boredom from turning into insanity, Russell sleeps it all off.

It was annoying at first. Sleeping with a Happy Dream did nothing to refresh your stamina of ease your muscles like how normal sleep works. Instead, he would wake up feeling just as exhausted as he was back in the dream, so mentally and physically wary that it was as if he didn’t sleep at all. From what little he knew about the project when it was first revealed two years ago, the pill creates an open space in the user’s mind and somehow connects it to other dreamers to solidify it enough for a small version of a person’s consciousness to enter it. Through nothing in that explanation said anything bout feeling dead tired despite lying on a bed for a half a day. Russell knew that there was some logical explanation to this; perhaps they did that to make the dream all too real for the user? Either way, it was an annoying experience to wake up feeling so dead tired that you only want to go back and have some real sleep.

Then the dreams began.

Perhaps it was because the Happy had jump started it, but the moment Russell went back to sleep after he woke up from his first dose of the Happy Dream, he was subjected to a rather realistic dream. Back in the days before he was administered the Happy Dream. Russell did not dream. Sleeping was a simple close your eyes then opens them again for him back then. Even if it did turn out that he was dreaming, he could never remember it as it would disappear the moment he awoke. As such, Russell could never understand any conversation that included dreaming, as he had never experienced one. The boy paid no mind to this at first – there were many things he didn’t have already _(A proper mom, A proper dad, A happy home-)_ so adding dreams into that list shouldn’t have affected him so much.

Then the Happy Dreams began, and Russell found himself wishing that he knew what real dreams were like before meeting this depressing farce.

Inside his Happy Dream, everyone he killed was alive. Everyone was friendly to him. Everyone cared for him. And for all he tried to reason to himself – _Because he knew that they wouldn’t act like this if they weren’t from his mind_ – he found that he could not help but care for this people as if they were still real and alive. The thought made him feel bitter really. His life had been so horrible before he murdered his parents. The few good things in his life overshadowed by the sheer desolation his home would bring him and the jealousy he felt when he would see people – _lucky, lucky people_ – laughing and having the time of their lives. It was only after he crossed the borders of what little he knew of morality and began to kill innocent people and was subjected to this Happy Dream that he was able to find some semblance of happiness in the form of the – ironically named – Happy Dream.

Why is it that he only found happiness after murdering all those people?

Why is it that the best moments of his life had to happen in a dream?

Everyone’s so nice but…

Why couldn’t he have met people like them sooner? Before he became jealous, before he killed his first victim, before his life killed whatever sense of happiness that was left in his heart?

Why wasn’t there anyone who helped him?

Even if that help were in the form of just killing him, he would have been fine. Because then the pain would go away. Because then the people he met in this dream would grow up. Because then there would still be ten other people out there who had the chance to live their life _better._

_I wish I never killed them in the first place_

He thought as he was succumbed by an emotion that he could not describe. It was dark and oppressive and did nothing to help him as he tried to keep his eyes from watering from the sheer force of emotion. This feeling…this had to be…guilt…

That was the first time he felt guilt over something, the first of many other emotions that would come to him once more. Sadness, Anger, Doubt, Fear, Pity…Bloodlust…Those momentary flickers of emotion came back to him one by one, hurting him in ways he never knew he could.

It was perhaps, because of this, that he began to have real dreams again.

* * *

 

 

During the first night after his Happy Dream, he would dream of a dark place with no light. There was chattering that could be heard, monkey chattering, people chattering, voices mixing together to create an organized mess of chaos. Russell stiffened at the noise, not because it was loud, but because it was familiar.

He opened his eyes and the darkness receded, he was at the zoo again, sitting on a bench as he rested for a moment. It was not long before a hand rested on his shoulder and he stiffened, only to relax again at the sight of a familiar green coat and a languid smile. Oddly enough, there was a baby monkey on his shoulder, looking at him curiously, but not saying anything.

_“Hey there? I’ve been seeing you around a lot lately, is everything okay?”_

The man was talking to him, holding out a frozen treat while speaking. He took the frozen treat and ate it, letting the man take him to his room and chat with him about his worries. There were no images of Dad, no boy killing a kind man.

Just a carefree Tabasa.

 

* * *

 

 

The next dream he had was at his second night. It was set in a warm house lit with candles and decorated with roses and colourful banners. It was as if he entered a festival house with how bright and colourful everything was.  He was sitting in the corner, watching as the birthday girl walked down the stairs and into her daddy’s waiting arms. A large cake was placed in the center of the room, surrounded with presents in a way that made it look like a large Christmas tree.

_“Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday to You! Happy Birthday, drear Gardenia! Happy Birthday to You!_

 The children that were invited sing the special song to the blessed girl and give her presents. He had also gotten up to give her his gift, a shiny spatula, to which she squeals happily. The father then gives his present along with Russell’s, along with a kiss on the cheek, and the girl was so ecstatic to see a the box of a shiny and new frying pan that she hugged both her father and Russell to the point of suffocation. He had left early after that, yet he could hear the joyful singling of that special song. There were no steep stairs anywhere near her, no jealous child killing a blessed child.

Just a happy Gardenia.

 

* * *

 

The third dream he had was long and silent. He was standing in front of an old and musty church with vines swirling to and from the cracks, but did not do anything else. Someone calls his name, and he turns to find the younger of the siblings looking at him weirdly and asking what he was doing out so late. She seemed to recognize Russell from his earlier visits, and invite him into the empty church, where the lights were warm and the air was fresh. He sees the priest near the alter of the church, sweeping with a mask on as he grumbled something about how people are so inconsiderate about what their shoes might have stepped on. He looks up to see Russell and his sister entering the church and greets him formally, asking if he came for a confession. And through he had refused to confess of the sins he knew he would make, he was allowed to take a seat and waste his time staring at the image of the golden painted cross despite the church already being closed for the night.

_“God forgives those who are repentant. But he will always love everyone, whether they be sinner or saint,”_

The dream stays like that for a while, with him sitting to quell his own thoughts, the girl leaving to clean the outside of the church, and the boy putting the broom away in favour for a mop. It was only after the priest finished his mopping and the girl came back from outside did they come towards the place he was sitting at and sits right beside the blond boy, causing Russell to flinch. The priest would pull no punches and ask if there was something that was deeply worrying him, with the girl only ridiculing him for his straightforwardness and nothing else.  

_“Were supposed to be asking him what’s wrong! Not giving an interrogation! What happened to those smooth talking ways of your during confessions?!”_

Even when Russell refused to talk, however, the priest did not get angry, and actually told him that the church would always be open for him and until the day he opens up to the church. The girl agreed before giving Russell a smile and saying that – even after he opens up to the church – they would make sure to keep him company. There were no flames covering the vines, no sinner killing god’s children.

Just Dogma and Cody living their lives and helping others.

 

* * *

 

 

By his fourth dream, he no longer felt any form of joy in his seeing anything else. That night he was sitting cross-legged on those Japanese mats the doctor liked so much, drinking the tea he had made with Russell’s help as the doctor left to gather his medicine supplies. The doctor then came up behind him, giving him a warm and genuine smile before asking him how his day was and if he needed any assistance in his homework.

_“Do you not prefer to work here rather than that place you call your home? Come now, I will help you,”_

The doctor would then pat his head affectionately before sitting down beside him and taking it upon himself to take the boy’s homework out of his bag, much to the boy’s discomfort. They would muse over the simple questions and wreck their minds over the historically dated ones until they were done. Russell would then keep the papers inside his bag once more, secretly happy that the papers smelled of tea and medical herbs instead of beer and sex. The Doctor would smile at him as he left the house, telling Russell that his door was open for him anytime. There was no blood staining the tatami mats, no unloving killing a guilty conscience.

Just a calm and melancholic Kantera

 

* * *

 

His fifth dream was the worst of them all. He was in a small white room with an open window, a single bed, and a vase filled with freshly picked roses. He was sitting on a chair near the bed, covered in bruises and bandages as the nurse fretted over the cold compress she was holding. Beside them, the patient on the bed was looking at the bruises on the child’s skin with obvious distaste, through this distaste was not directed at Russell in particular.

_“Oh dear, I don’t seem to have enough cold compresses in stock...,”_

_“You may use the extra one the doctor had given me for my leg. I’m sure the child needs it more than I do,”_

The man lying on the hospital bed spoke, his weary look making his still youthful face look 20 years older. Through none would say otherwise that it still gave off a calming effect. The nurse fumbled against it for a second, before agreeing and taking the extra compress from the patient’s closet and applying it on Russell’s eye gently, letting the pain surrounding his eye numb away. The nurse smiled at him with worry, telling him that this had got to stop, that he had to tell the police about the abuse he was receiving from his father. Russell shook his head though, and the nurse’s smile faltered. The patient on the bed also seemed to frown at the boy’s refusal to bring justice, but reluctantly nodded in understanding. It was, after all, difficult to think about what would happen to Russell if the police found out that neither of his parents were fit to raise him and he was sent to some other relative. The nurse then spoke up again, telling him that – at the very least – if he ever got injured, he could come to this hospital, because she would always be there to help him. There were no green eyes turning red on the pavement, no injured child killing a healer.

Just a kind and caring Mireille and the patient Saxon

 

* * *

 

 

Russel woke up in the middle of the night after that dream. All but screaming before proceeding to get off his bed and sit on the corner, fervently trying to cloud his mind and prevent his eyes from closing again.

He did not sleep for the entire night

 

* * *

 

 

Russel came to despise dreams.

He came to despise the happy faces and the warm feelings he would see in his normal dreams. All they did was made him feel regret.

Regret that he could not understand. Regret that he could not hold in his jealousy. Regret that he could not have befriended these people back when they were alive.

Was the dream taunting him with a path he could have taken? Did he secretly wish for a life like that when he first met them?

He was getting so sick of dreams already, and he only had five in his entire life.

That was why he did not want to sleep during his sixth night after waking from the Happy Dream. He was frightened by the prospect of seeing his parents and Yumi in that dream, showing him a happy family that was neither harmful nor indecent. The mere thought of his dream conjuring up such a wishful lie made him want to throw up what little he still had in his stomach. He did not want to regret killing his father and mother, not after everything they did to him. He did not want to see that kind of dream right now.

Everything was already over anyways. Everyone was dead, gone, buried. Those dreams he had will never come true.

So when he became too tired to fight off the sleep and began to dream once again, he was surprised.

_“Have you ever heard the term ‘Déjà vu’?”_

He was sitting on the white bed of his white prison; an empty syringe was still on the table next to him. His eyes were sunken, desolate, tired from an ordeal that happened in a dream that the dream did not know off yet. The boy in the dream seemed to shiver uncontrollably, no tears fell, but a pained sob was caught in his throat.

Guilt has taken over him.

He has now been degenerated into the state this project wanted him to be.

A guilty, repentant, criminal, who now knows the horrors of his wrongdoings.

The boy got up from his bed, his eyes turning towards the door for a moment before looking away, disgusted. His eyes caught the empty syringe.

And then...

He...

Russell’s mind went blank as his mind was clouded in red.

**_I’m Sorry. I’m Sorry, I’m Sorry_ **

His throat hurts, his body hurts, his mind hurts.

Everything was going numb.

He wanted it to end.

He plunged the syringe deeper.

Make it end.

**Make it end.**

**MAKE IT END.**

Too much blood, so much blood.

He was falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

And-

 

* * *

 

 

_“Do you think you could have done things differently if you had the chance?”_

_You looked up from the book you had taken from the bookshelf and towards the boy who was said to be you._

_You turned away, the informant smiled._

_“Stupid question, I suppose,” He laughed with Russell’s voice, the sound resonating like the wind chimes in the doctor’s medicine shop. It would have sounded beautiful if it weren’t for the desolated tone it carried “Everyone wants to fix their mistakes if they had the chance,”_

_You frowned, and attempted to go back to your book, when the informant spoke again._

_“Still, would you? If someone gave you the chance to change things, to make your dreams become reality...would you take it?”_

_Russell closed the book with a sigh. The informant was annoyingly talkative to him right now. He certainly wasn’t this talkative when Walter barged his way into here._

_Perhaps that was the reason why the informant was oddly talkative today._

_He should have never gone with Walter’s plan._

_“Don’t you already know the answer?” He spoke softly, returning the book to the shelf and refusing to meet the boy in the eye, “You are me after all,”_

_He should have looked back, he should have looked at the informant, perhaps then he would see the pain and uncertainty that appeared in his face at that single mention._

_Instead, he heard the boy’s laugh again._

_“...I suppose. I am you, aren’t I?”_

_“And because I’m you...I know,”_

_“I know...what you really want to do in the end...,”_

 

* * *

And Russell woke up.

And he knew

 

* * *

_“But doing that won’t change anything, you know?”_

_“So please, before you actually go through with it...please come to my place one last time,”_

_“...will you promise me that?”_

_“...Russell?”_

 

* * *

He knew what he wanted to do in the end. ** _  
_**


End file.
